The Last Five Days
by Kegster
Summary: Metias and June cope with their parent's passing.


The last five days feel like a nightmare. A nightmare that would rival those that had left him sweating and quaking with terror when he was a young boy about to take his trial. A nightmare that began with him opening the door to find soldiers on his doorstep. A nightmare of twisted metal and shattered glass. Of empty bedrooms but full hearts. Of having to stop every now and then to lean against the nearest wall, take a deep breath, and blink back the tears that had been demanding to fall for the last five days. Of making plans that stretch him far beyond his seventeen years of maturity.

Now having spent the last five days walking, discombobulated, through a living nightmare, he sees his sister dressed in what would probably be a little girl's dream. All silk flowers and sparkling beads, layers of tulle and floaty chiffon. Yes, Katharine, the nanny who had been working overtime the last five days, had done an exemplary job picking it out. It looked like something straight out of a storybook and would've delighted his five-year-old sister…if only it were a different color. June looked like a princess… draped in a burial shroud. He never would've thought he'd have to see his sister dressed in funeral whites at such a young age and the jarring image forces him to swallow the lump in his throat that he's been fighting ever since the soldiers on his doorstep told him they would be escorting him to Batalla Hall.

Katharine notices his presence in the door and turns to face him.

"Doesn't she look pretty?" She asks trying to keep her voice light and upbeat.

Metias nods then adds, "Can you give us a minute?"

"Of course," Katharine sets down the handful of pins she'd been using in his sister's hair and quickly moves to exit the room.

"Thank you Katharine," he calls before the door closes softly.

He approaches his little sister as she stares with empty eyes into the mirror on the vanity she's seated in front of. A pang of guilt strikes his heart. June looks lost, just as lost as he feels. He's hardly seen her the last five days. He's spent so much time trying to convince this council or that tribunal that he's fit to take care of his sister that, regrettably, he hasn't been doing much caretaking.

"Hey June Bug," he says kneeling next to the little girl.

"Hi," her small voice replies, her lips barely moving.

"I'm sorry I've been so busy, there's just a lot—" his voice catches in his throat.

"It's okay, I know," June pipes in, saving him from having to finish but she still doesn't turn to face him.

He knows Mom and Dad would've wanted him to have her. There were those who thought it'd be better for her to be sent to a boarding school in Denver but as soon as he heard he'd asked for an audience with anyone who'd listen. He didn't care that he was only seventeen. He didn't care that he still had two years at university to focus on or that it might jeopardize his promising future in the military. It didn't matter to him that people thought he wasn't ready to raise June. It wasn't anything he didn't already know. But he also knew this wasn't a matter of being ready. It may seem impossible right now that he could take care of his sister successfully. However, people did what seemed impossible everyday. They did it because they had to. And he had to do this for June. There was no way what was left of his family would be split up.

"Still, I'm sorry," he repeats, putting a hand on her head.

Katharine had been pulling her hair into an elaborate tangle of curls on top of her head. Metias shivers. Mom had always loved it when her hair was down.

"What do you think about this hair?" He asks, prodding the up-do.

June remains silent for a long time before finally reaching up to find one of the pins with her small fingers.

"It's pokey," she says quietly.

"I don't like it either," Metias whispers conspiratorially.

June sits completely still while he removes the pins from her black locks and gently brushes through the curls so her hair hangs long and loose. She should look like her mother's little girl today. He takes the circlet of white flowers that sits on the vanity top and places it on the crown of her head. He briefly admires the beautiful contrast of the snow colored flowers nestled in raven hair and he wishes their parents could see her. He dips his head down to kiss her forehead. Still, June doesn't move, simply stares straight ahead.

"Are you feeling okay?" Metias asks becoming concerned for his sister's catatonia.

_Of course she's not feeling okay, _Metias chides himself. He'd spent the last five days trying to convince himself that **he** was okay. He hates the horrible nauseous feeling that sits in his stomach and hasn't gone away no matter how many pills he takes. He hates that he was the one called to identify the bodies and now every time he closes his eyes, his mind cruelly recalls the images of battered, pale flesh. He hates knowing that June's world now rests on his shoulders. Metias wonders if he'll ever feel the same again.

June shakes her head and the tears pour down her flushed, round cheeks.

"Are… do… do I have to leave," she chokes out.

"No, no. Where did you-," he doesn't bother to finish his sentence. Sometimes he forgets how observant the little girl is and he hates that this has been weighing on her heart. On top of everything else. He'd tried to keep the debacle over who would assume June's parental rights away from her; he didn't want to scare her. But as usual his little sister missed nothing,

She launches herself off the chair and into Metias's arms. Hearing her strained sobs causes Metias to feel a physical ache in his chest, as if some invisible force is compacting his heart. He puts his big arms firmly around the little girl; trying to make up for all the things he hasn't been able to shield her from.

"No June. You're not going anywhere. I took care of it, okay. You're staying right here."

He finally lets the tears fall. The siblings cry together for the first time. Metias had tried to be strong for June and even at the age of five she'd tried to show she could be strong too. But that wasn't where the Iparis sibling's strength lay. No, their strength was forged the day their mother put the infant into a twelve-year-old Metias' arms, in all the times his sister reminded him of the person he wanted to be, someone she could be as proud of as he was of her, in babysitting adventures and cartons of ice cream stolen from the fridge. This was his little sister and he had a responsibility to her. Their strength was in their wholehearted belief in each other. Now his unashamed tears fall into her loose curls and hers mottle the shoulders of his white suit. Together they weep, big, cathartic tears that have built up the last five days. Metias hopes it will wash them both clean.

"Look at me June," he says pulling her back so they are face to face. Her red rimmed, tear filled, golden eyes, stare into a matching pair.

"I will never stop fighting for you, June. I promise you that. We're going to be together okay? I'm going to take care of you, we're going to take care of each other."

She nods sniffling.

"Do you trust me, June Bug?"

"Yes," June answers.

"I'm going to tell you the truth, okay? Today's going to be hard. And tomorrow will be hard too and the day after that and it's going to feel like it will **never **stop being hard," his little sister's lip quivers but she doesn't avert her gaze, "but then one day it'll be easier. I promise. We just have to be brave and get to one day."

June nods resolutely as if accepting this mission.

"You're the bravest person I know," June confides.

"I'll be brave for you and you'll be brave for me…deal?"

He holds his pinky finger out to the baby sister who's had him wrapped around hers since she was born.

"Deal," she says returning the gesture.

Metias stands and gives June one last once over.

"They loved you so much," he says. June doesn't say anything but she rubs at her eyes. He clears his throat.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," she answers in a strong voice.

He takes her small hand in his and leads her out the door. He tries not to think about having to stand beside their parent's casket and accept condolences of varying degrees of sincerity from people they barely know.

The last five days are over and they'll become the last six days, the last twenty days, the last hundred days… but he's leading her to one day…she'll get to one day.


End file.
